Grits and Glory

By Haley Whitehall

During the Civil War, Peter Warren, a tender-hearted, disowned Southern gentleman, spies for the Union Army in Fredericksburg, Virginia—a region where he is well-known. Plagued by memories of his father’s brutality on their plantation, he has vivid recollections which could betray his identity with a slip of the lip. He fears being recognized as an Underground Railroad conductor since posters with his likeness blanket the South. Once he is trapped on the Confederate side of the frozen Rappahannock, will Peter choose to save his skin or fulfill his duty?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Haley Whitehall
• Release date: Aug 17, 2012
• ISBN: 9780985182847

Haley Whitehall

Haley was telling stories before she could write. When she was four, she woke her parents up to write down her burning ideas. Growing up on John Wayne movies and the Little House on the Prairie books, she has always loved historical fiction. For ten years Haley developed her writing craft and voice by studying authors such as Avi, Ann Rinaldi, and Mark Twain to name a few. She received her B.A in history through Central Washington University. During all her research, her soul was pulled deeper in the 19th century U.S. Using her words to transport people back in time continues to give her a thrill. Sometimes she wishes she could escape the present and float down the Mississippi River on a raft. But then again, just writing another historical fiction novel is a much safer journey. You can visit her at HaleyWhitehall.com

Book preview

GRITS AND GLORY

Haley Whitehall

Published by Expanding Horizons Press

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2012 Haley Whitehall

Cover Art by J. Simmons

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entire coincidental.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Contact

Copyright

Chapter 1

September 7, 1862

Pittsfield, New Hampshire

MOLLY ADMIRED THEIR unfinished house with a critical inspection. Their kitchen would be warm when they brought in the stove, but right now it was chilly. I talked to mother again yesterday about moving up the wedding. She said no.

Peter tipped his head back and took a deep breath. Of course she did. For the millionth time. How was he going to tell her he had enlisted?

I know you are not looking forward to the big ceremony. We could go to the next town and get married in secret. Dan can come with us to be a witness.

Peter pressed his lips together. Molly had accepted that Dan was going to be his best man, but her mother had not yet made peace with having a negro in the wedding party. It was a good thing that Molly took after her father and Peter didn’t take after his.

Dan was going to be a witness all right. A witness to Peter boarding a train with his fellow soldiers.

I know it is late, but we could wake up the judge. The daring in Molly’s voice made Peter’s pulse quicken. She had always been headstrong and defying tradition was nothing new, but this proposition was surprising.

He was sure Molly would find him donning a blue uniform surprising, too.

No, Peter said although it was painful. He didn’t want strained relations with her mother; they were going to have children after all. We need your parents’ blessings. I don’t want us to do something you will regret later.

Mother is the one enamored with high society. I just want to be with you. I don’t care if our wedding is the social event of the year.

Peter forced out a weak laugh. He didn’t know if he could survive without her. He loved Molly with every breath in his body. She always put him first. But he couldn’t do what she wanted.

One day you will look back at that wrinkled newspaper clipping of our wedding. It is something you will want to show our children. Would she instead be looking a newspaper clipping of his name among the dead?

Molly nodded. I suppose you are right. I know Mother would make me regret my hasty decision. She giggled.

Speaking of things he might regret later, there was the big news Peter couldn’t hold back any longer. He loosened the collar of his shirt. His heart palpitated. She had no idea why he suddenly wanted to marry sooner than planned. And he was running out of time to tell her. Their unfinished house, the home they had built and dreamed of, would have to be the place.

He wrapped his arms around her slender frame, pressing her back tightly against his chest, her height mere inches shorter than his. The heat of her body warmed him. Could he make it through every day without her tender caress? Maybe he shouldn’t go. Their future together didn’t involve him dodging cannonballs. Or maybe that was an excuse. Would people think him a coward? What kind of man would he be if he didn’t fight? Would he still have honor? Would he be shunned from Molly’s social circle?

Then again, what kind of man would he be if he did leave Molly behind? Would she still want to marry him? He didn’t know how long he was going to be gone. Would she refuse to wait for him and meet someone else? No. He knew Molly’s heart belonged to him. And he’d made up his mind.

He ran a couple fingers along her collarbone and she shivered. Did she know something was wrong? She knew him so well, after all, as if they were destined for each other. One look at him, and she’d burrowed inside his soul. Maybe that ability would help her understand why he needed to do this. If he didn’t tell her now, he never would. Molly, he stammered, I need to tell you something important.

Molly tilted her head back. What?

Peter opened his mouth, but the words refused to come. He didn’t want to hurt her. He had vowed to always be there for her, to protect her. But he had to leave.

He kissed her on the top of the head, inhaling her perfume and a faint scent of wildflowers. They had picked wildflowers earlier and she had woven them into a circlet for her head which she had worn proudly until they had faded. Wildflowers had special meaning for them. A bouquet of wildflowers had helped bring them together and Molly planned to hold a similar bouquet at their wedding.

Molly gently elbowed him. Don’t just stand there with your mouth open. What is it?

Peter whispered, I have enlisted in the army. The train leaves tomorrow.

Molly broke free from his embrace and spun around. Her eyes pierced the shadowy dusk; her words pierced his soul. An uncharacteristic roughness invaded her well-bred speech. How can you make me a widow before I’m a bride? How dare you run off and play soldier.

How could she think he was volunteering for glory? He had much purer motives. He had to right his father’s wrongs.

This isn’t a game, Molly, Peter said. You know about my past. You know about my father’s cruelty and my feelings towards the South. I had hoped you’d understand. His father loved the whip, loved the power, loved the fear in a slave’s eyes or his son’s eyes. He fed off of it as if was his daily bread.

Tightening the ivory shawl around her shoulders, Molly worried the fabric between her fingers. I know this is serious. But do you? Why did you wait till the last minute to tell me?

Peter stroked the nape of his neck. Standing in the kitchen, he gazed at the stars above their unroofed house. A cold wind blew. Should he give her his coat? He wanted to avoid her question. He didn’t have a good answer. It is late. I should take you back to your parents’ house.

In the glow of lamplight, Molly’s face flushed. Folding her arms across her chest, she confronted him. You are not going to tell me something of this nature and then take me home as if nothing is wrong! We are going to talk about this. Her voice tripled in volume.

I didn’t know how to tell you. I love you, Molly. I didn’t want to hurt you.

The same way you told me just now. She jutted out her chin. Didn’t you think this was something we should discuss first? Or do my concerns mean nothing?

Peter closed his eyes. You are right. I should have summoned the courage to bring this up sooner.

But you didn’t. You were only thinking about yourself. I expect my future husband to be open with me.

I understand. He reached for her hand, but she pulled away.

Why can’t you enlist after we’re married? Can’t it wait two weeks? The sorrow Peter had feared entered her voice and tears filled her eyes.

The two weeks would easily stretch on to two months. No. He had to go now. If I want to be in the same company as everyone else in Pittsfield I need to enlist now. And considering my past, considering what my father has done, it is my duty—

You know this war isn’t really about slavery.

When the South seceded from the Union, they made it about slavery.

Molly took short, rapid breaths. I know this is important to you. My family gives money to the cause. There is no reason you have to get yourself shot.

Peter’s gut twisted, his blood simmered. He wasn’t angry with her, but with himself. His words carried the weight of the past, the weight of the responsibility he’d thrust upon his shoulders. I have to be a man. I have to do what I think is right. I have to fight or I won’t be able to—

A real man takes care of his wife. At least he makes her feel involved in important decisions.

Her words carried a bite, teeth sinking into his heart. If she wanted him to feel guilty, she’d just won a blue ribbon.

Peter straightened his wiry frame and met her wounded gaze. I knew you would try to sway me from risking my life. And, as you know, I can be easily swayed. His voice was firm and decided with an undertone of apology. But I’m doing this for myself and for Dan.

Peter’s lungs tightened, fearing her next response.

Dan? Molly said, taking a step towards him. You talked this over with him, didn’t you?

Peter’s chest ached. Yes.

I am going to be your wife. Shouldn’t I come first?

Dan is my brother. You are both my family. I should have given you the same courtesy.

Your brother! Molly’s round, sapphire eyes narrowed into cat-like slits. He is as black as tar. He isn’t your brother. I’m going to be your real family.

Peter swallowed the heated response that made his mouth burn. Any racist comment lit a fire in his stomach, but words against Dan… He watched as her eyes filled with regret and she bit her lip, apparently too ashamed to voice her apology.

Peter’s timbre softened and when he spoke there was sadness in each word, Aunt Ruth, his mother, our mother, is the only mother I know. He wiped his sweaty palms on his black pants. Please don’t make me choose between the two of you, Peter said. Dan has been with me every day of my life.

Then how can you bear to leave him? she asked in a harsh tone, throwing her arms in the air.

Peter’s left eye twitched. He ignored the sarcasm in her voice. This was the anger and shock and pain talking. It wasn’t the Molly he loved.

Dan understands my need to enlist. I had hoped you would, too.

She responded with a steely glare. I understand. You’re proving something to yourself and your father. But that doesn’t mean I like it.

I know. Peter paused and ran his tongue around his dry mouth. I am leaving tomorrow afternoon at one. Will you see me off?

Molly rocked back on her heels, her lips pursed. No.

A lump rose in his throat. No? Molly’s stern expression didn’t lessen. Will you at least think about it?

Molly exhaled loudly. Yes. I can do that.

Peter hurried to the train station, searching for Molly. Coal smoke mingled with the crisp autumn air. Soldiers, their family, and friends arrived in slow waves. The loved ones broke into small groups feigning some privacy.

Dan shortened his stride to walk beside Peter.

A couple railroad workers walked the length of the platform. One of them slapped the side of the train. The clunk made Dan wince.

Peter put a hand on Dan’s bicep for a second. Dan always seemed strong for him, but Peter knew he had hidden scars as well.

I wish you could go with me, Peter said. But it helps me to know you’ll take care of Molly while I’m gone.

Dan nodded. Belle said she wouldn’t let me go even if I could.

Peter’s stomach turned. Molly had tried to prevent him and failed.

An ensemble of horns, violins, and flutes had gathered to see the boys off in style, striking up Wait for the Wagon. The band, in military-inspired uniforms, were in good spirits, feet tapping in time.

The upbeat tune made Peter more uneasy. He faked a smile—the tight kind that he knew Dan could see through.

He drummed his fingers on his thigh mimicking the telegraph taps. Impatience and worry crept into his voice. Thanks for packing my knapsack. I couldn’t ask Molly after our fight last night, and I wasn’t in the mood to do it myself. He continued searching the crowd. Would she come or not?

I know. You were brooding, Dan said, rubbing his stubbly cheek.

Peter’s stomach felt hollow, anxiety rising from his toes. I don’t want to part with her on strained terms.

She loves you, Peter. War is hard for women to understand.

Peter gritted his teeth. If she loves me, she’ll support me. If she doesn’t… His facial muscles tightened.

Peter felt soft hands over his eyes. His voice rose in pitch, relief rose from the depths of his heart and happiness untied the knots in his chest. You came.

He turned around and Molly removed her hands. She tilted her neck and gave him her best puppy eyes. I feel bad about our fight last night. Your news caught me by surprise. I had to think it through.

Peter pulled her close, his pulse threatening to skid out of control. It was my fault. Do you forgive me?

In lieu of a response, Molly gave him a sugary inviting smile. Peter felt her stiffly boned corset and worked his hands up to the soft skin of her arms. Her eyes twinkled; he lowered his head, inching closer to her lips.

I will come back, he promised. He kissed her long and hard. Adrenaline charged through his veins, and he longed to kiss her again, but he held back for the sake of propriety.

Peter, I will miss you so, Molly said, resting her head on his shoulder.

Peter fingered her hair. For a moment, they breathed in harmony. Her eyes spoke to his soul, filled with unsaid words and unfulfilled promises. Her quivering lip gave way to sobs.

Peter pulled back from her embrace. He couldn’t handle her fragile emotions. He hated to see her hurt. Hated that his decision had stabbed her heart, leaving a wound he could not mend. He looked away at three soldiers passing their little group. Would he soon be serving with one of them?

She brushed away her tears. I’m sorry, she said, taking a deep breath. I told myself I wasn’t going to cry.

He brushed her cheek. You have many things to keep you busy, with the building of our house and planning the wedding for when I return.

I’ll never get busy enough not to worry. Her shaky voice sped up, making her words run together. I’ll worry that you’re cold. I’ll worry that you’re hungry. I’ll worry that you’re ill. I’ll worry that—

Peter put a finger to her lips. I know, he breathed. I know.

I really don’t believe you’ll be home in ninety days, she said.

A tense silence hung between them.

He gave her a long look from head to toe. Her red lawn dress trimmed with white rosettes looked strikingly patriotic against his new wool uniform: navy coat and sky blue pants. Hopefully, she approved of her solider.

Peter pulled a tintype out of his pocket and thrust it into Molly’s hand. Something to remember me by. I was afraid I’d have to leave it with Dan.

She kissed the picture of him in full Union uniform, standing proudly by an American flag, knapsack on his back, musket in hand. I packed a surprise for you—

You packed? He shot an accusing look at Dan.

The six-foot man shrugged his large shoulders, failing to hold back a smile.

The surprise is at the bottom, Molly said.

Peter unslung his knapsack, opened it and gently rummaged through. Socks, underwear, shaving tools, blankets, and carefully wrapped provisions. The lead balls reminded him he wasn’t going on a trip to Philadelphia.

"Look in Romeo and Juliet," Molly said, her eagerness palpable.

Peter lifted out the book of Shakespeare and turned to the first page of his favorite play. There rested a tintype of Molly in her best silk dress with lacy sleeves and a watch fob made of a lock of her golden hair.

I wish you could say it was a picture of your wife, but mother wouldn’t hear of it. She wants us to have a grand wedding.

Peter nodded. Despite her mother’s attempt to prolong their courtship, in his mind he and Molly were already one. He repositioned some of the goods in his knapsack, hoisted it onto his back, and checked the time.

Train will be leaving soon.

The platform became crowded with soldiers and friends and family saying their farewells. Peter looked over his shoulder at the throng of people filling the station. He searched the crowd for familiar faces. He recognized members of the Abolitionist Society enlisting with him.

Where were the Kane brothers? Dan had been his crutch. Now he’d have to rely on them to control his nostalgia. His friends Jim, Eli, and Nathan knew how to help him handle and control his chilling memories.

The train roared to life, coal smoke billowing from the chimney. A whistle blew clear and shrill.

All aboard, a deep voice shouted.

Peter gave Molly a kiss on the cheek. Her eyes brimmed with tears and she clutched the sides of her dress, her fingers digging into the material. He sensed she was resisting an attempt to stop him. Peter gripped Dan’s arm in a silent parting. Dan’s round chin dipped to him, his face full of fierce pride. Peter’s heart stumbled forward along with his feet as he climbed on the train. Other soldiers followed. It was a short ride to Concord where they’d be officially mustered in.

Peter took a seat; it was hard and uncomfortable just like his parting. He hadn’t been separated from Dan for more than a day at a time. Being torn from his brother was as painful as being torn from Molly, but he hoped that didn’t show.

He shifted in the seat he wished to have all to himself. His skin crawled with a combination of excitement and apprehension. He listened to the band, his eyes closed, trying to catch every note.

Jacob, the attorney, boarded the train and pushed his way down the aisle as if the world owed him. His jaw was tense, eyes threatening. Farm boys, laborers, and shopkeepers meant nothing to him. The other soldiers, not wanting to brave his anger, parted and let him pass.

Jacob inched closer. His brassy brown hair and heavy footsteps announced his presence. Dread settled in Peter’s throat. If Jacob sat next to him, he knew the ride to Concord would be filled with silent misery. The two barely talked to each other and Peter wanted to keep it that way.

Nathan refused to get out of Jacob’s way. For a minute they faced off like two wolves.

With farm boy defiance, Nathan took a step towards Jacob, the muscles on his arms flexing.

Jacob’s dark green eyes shifted to the men around him, then his gaze locked with Nathan.

Peter’s stomach tightened. Don’t fight, screamed through his head. With a sly, determined twist of the mouth, Nathan sat next to Peter.

Thank you, Peter whispered.

Nathan’s lips twitched. "You’d think it was his father who owned a plantation."

Peter laughed softly, without feeling. Smiling and laughing were mechanical actions. He knew when they were expected. They seldom came freely.

Peter stuck his head out the window and inhaled hometown air. His eyes widened and his heart stirred inside his chest. Molly ran up and reached her hand through the open glass.

I want to soak up every last second of your presence, she said.

Peter etched her gorgeous, gleaming eyes into his mind. Her full, delicate lips. The dignified way she held her head. The way a stray wisp of hair hung in front of her ear. He’d recall them on all those nights ahead.

I’m just going to Washington after training, Peter said. Won’t be on the battlefield yet.

Their fingers brushed a final time. My love be with you, she said.

A sharp jerk pitched the passengers in their seats. The train lumbered out of the station, carrying the men into the army. He glanced back and did not see Molly or Dan. His stomach rolled like the train at the thought he’d never see them again.

Chapter 2

December 5, 1862

Bank of the Rappahannock River, Virginia

UNDER THE BRIGHT, yellow moon, Peter stared down the Confederate picket on the opposite riverbank—his eyes burning with disgust, burning with pain, burning with hate.

The rebel met his glare with a cold, stony eyes and spat a stream of tobacco juice.

Peter blinked. The rebel’s appearance, tall and muscular with a full brown beard, triggered rapid breathing. The rebel resembled his father. Peter’s insides clenched—preparing for a fight.

He’d make the gray viper suffer for forcing him as a boy to witness the cruelest evils of slavery.

Not moving, the rebel stared back with a defiant coolness.

Peter shook his head. His father had black hair not brown. Peter scratched the back of his neck. Of course that man wasn’t his father. Cold, fatigue, and tension were getting to him.

Damn my father. His words fell on the wind. He was imagining things again—didn’t need to start that while on duty.

He didn’t need to provoke the enemy into showing off his firing skills. He took a deep breath and exhaled through his nose forcing his lungs to expand.

Peter’s fingers were clumsy and frozen as if weighted with lead. He rubbed them vigorously against his thigh and felt a twinge of pain, but other than that they had no feeling.

He wished the rest of him was numb, too. His cold, wet uniform felt like ice against his skin. A chill, spreading down his exposed neck, made him shiver. He shifted the musket to his left hand and brushed the icicles off his short, black beard. The 12th New Hampshire – the Mountaineers – would likely freeze to death before facing the Rebs.

His eyelids felt heavy. He yawned and they began to close. Blasted, he mumbled. He kicked the back of his left leg to keep himself lucid.

Footsteps.

Halt, Peter said, his head snapping around.

Just your relief, Sergeant, the man replied.

Peter barely smiled, his lips too fatigued to stretch far. He stumbled to his hut, his legs unsteady from exhaustion.

Stirring the fire back to life, he walked over to the pit and blew on the dying embers, hoping it would thaw his fingers. He cupped his hands over his cheeks. His teeth chattered.

The fire wasn’t much, but it was better than none at all. He had learned to be grateful for the small, crackling flames. Many slaves did not have such comfort.

Years ago, his father had struck a slave boy, about his age, across the head with a shovel for taking a piece of wood out of the yard without permission. Struck him so hard he’d left mute. At first, his father thought the boy was playing dumb, so he had the overseer whip him for being so stubborn. The boy opened his mouth to scream when the lash descended upon his skin but no sound came out.

Those and many similar horrors haunted Peter. There hadn’t been a single carefree day in his childhood.

Peter didn’t know why he couldn’t control those memories, couldn’t keep them at bay for long.

Staring into the flames, he imagined his father trapped in hell for all eternity. It helped somehow. Picturing his father sweating, thirsty, his flesh burning, melted the past away. The thought boiled his memories until they evaporated as steam.

With trembling hands, he opened his book of Shakespeare and turned to Romeo and Juliet. Picking up Molly’s tintype, he gazed at her fair face. Perhaps at this exact moment she was also thinking of him.

Memories and dreams were all he had to hold on to. Would this picture be the last he ever saw of her? Would the day he enlisted be the last he felt her embrace? Two tears escaped, freezing on his cheeks.

Haven’t you read that whole book yet? Nathan asked in a quivering voice.

Peter raised his head. Nathan was wrapped in blankets, only his copper hair and brown eyes visible. He looked like a mole peering out of his hole.

Many times, Peter said. His longing gaze returned to Molly’s picture. It was in God’s hands whether or not he lived long enough for their happily-ever-after.

At least it wasn’t in his father’s hands. His father’s hands had already left enough of his life in ruins.

Covering his eyes with his palm, he willed himself to shed no more tears, willed strength back into his muscles.

Willed the past to stop torturing him.

Peter forced himself to at least act calm and in control. Damn my inherent weakness. I was elected sergeant for God’s sake.

Want to play cards? Nathan asked.

You’re too young to play cards.

I am not. Nathan’s face flushed. If sixteen is old enough to make me a soldier, then it ought to make me old enough to play cards.

Peter repressed a laugh, though Nathan’s serious face made it difficult. Sixteen was old enough to fight with his father’s permission, but Peter was not about to point that out.

"You’re only four years older than me. I wish you and my brothers would quit treating me like a boy. I’m a man."

All right, all right. I’m just giving you a hard time. I know you’re a man, Nathan. But I don’t want to play cards right now. Maybe later.

You want a cup of coffee then? Nathan’s voice softened, resuming its friendly farm boy tone. There’s some left in the pot.

Peter poured the last of the coffee into his tin cup. He sipped it and grimaced. The dregs were bitter and gritty. Still, it helped warm his insides.

He pulled out his pocket watch and lovingly fingered the fob, a braided lock of Molly’s golden hair. It was as soft and silky as he remembered; strong like her will and her love. He felt close to her, and at the same time he realized how far apart they were.

He ran his hand across one of the hut’s walls, admiring his handiwork. Molly would have been impressed. Well, maybe not. It didn’t compare to her father’s mansion.

Two loud knocks drew Peter’s attention to the door.

Come in, Peter said, as if the two words were all he could manage. He put the watch back in his pocket and rolled his neck.

Andrew Silas stuck his head inside the hut. The soldier looked like a shaggy buffalo with a thick brown beard and mustache.

Sergeant Warren, Lieutenant French wants to see you.

Peter nodded, with a groan.

He put Molly’s picture back into the Shakespeare book for safekeeping and stepped outside. The cold air took his breath away, like his father’s hands gripping his throat. Peter opened his mouth and gasped. He carefully walked and in some places skidded on the slick sheet of ice over to where the lanky blond-headed lieutenant was standing.

You wanted to see me, sir? he asked.

No. Surprised, Peter turned to go, but Lieutenant French stopped him. The slender officer stared out across the Rappahannock at the shadow of Fredericksburg. The rebels are watching us. We’re watching them, and they’re watching us.

Yes, sir.

Licking his bottom lip, Lieutenant French continued, General Burnside requested pontoons to cross the river. Building bridges seems like the only way to cross.

It is a large river, Peter said.

Peter’s muscles tensed. The awkward conversation made him feel like a stone had settled in his gullet.

Lieutenant French ran his thumb across the nails of his left hand and glanced at him with one eye.

Peter sensed there was something else on the officer’s mind.

It’s taking forever for him to get around to building the bridges. The element of surprise will be lost. Lee will be ready for us.

I know. Maybe he’s decided against taking Fredericksburg.

The lieutenant shook his head. "No.

Reviews for Grits and Glory

[kykim-1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Just finished reading Grits and Glory (Plantation Shadows Book 1) by Haley Whitehall, couldn't wait to turn the pages to see what was going to happen to Peter Warren next. This is an interesting book about the civil war, from the soldier's viewpoint. My heartbeat quickened as I found I could almost hear the hidden door of the secret room in Jack's house and the noise it made when slid back. I could feel Peter's fear has he hid in this dark room. Haley Whitehall has done a fantastic job of taking me back into the civil war and I feel as if I have truly experienced it myself. This book has made me understand even more what my gg-grandfathers went through as they left home as young boys / men to fight this war. I found myself with tears in my eyes at several points. Can't wait for the next book in this series to see what Peter decides to do. Will he take the captain up on his offer and stay alive, or will he die with honor.

[qstewart_5 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

An interesting look at the Civil War through the eyes of a southerner who has turned his back on his family and region to move north and ends up in the Union army, leaving his fiance and the ex-slave, he saved from the hands of his father, to fight for what he believes in. Through fate he ends up fighting back in the area that he grew up in and after his first taste of warfare he is encouraged to become a spy. After a visit to his home plantation he is trapped and cannot return to Union lines and ends up in the Confederate Army. Always trying to get back to his side of the war while trying not to be found out as a spy. Will he survive his ordeal or will he be found out? Maybe we will find out in the second of this series.The book gives a good view of what it must have been like to live in winter quarters just trying to stay dry and warm. It also comes through that there is always good and bad people on both sides of any conflict. A very interesting look at the Civil War and I look forward to reading the continuing story as they come out. Well done.

[jo2son · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Peter Warren, a young man who grew up in Virginia, helped with the Underground Railroad and fled north with one of his father's slaves, has decided to join the Union army and fight for the North. He comes to Virgina nearby the plantation where he grew up. As a result of various circumstances, he becomes a spy for the Confederate army. This book offers the reader a detailed glimpse into the difficulties of life in the army during the Civil War. Although the historical details were very interesting, the story seemed to drag on and did not wrap up well at the end. It felt like a chapter or more was missing at the end.

[kimberlygscott · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Just finished reading Grits and Glory (Plantation Shadows Book 1) by Haley Whitehall, couldn't wait to turn the pages to see what was going to happen to Peter Warren next. This is an interesting book about the civil war, from the soldier's viewpoint. My heartbeat quickened as I found I could almost hear the hidden door of the secret room in Jack's house and the noise it made when slid back. I could feel Peter's fear has he hid in this dark room. Haley Whitehall has done a fantastic job of taking me back into the civil war and I feel as if I have truly experienced it myself. This book has made me understand even more what my gg-grandfathers went through as they left home as young boys / men to fight this war. I found myself with tears in my eyes at several points. Can't wait for the next book in this series to see what Peter decides to do. Will he take the captain up on his offer and stay alive, or will he die with honor.

[vivapdx_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Gritty and raw, but well written. Whitehall really brought history to life for me.

[pattymclpn · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Grits and Glory Review This is my first semi-professional book review ever! So here it goes. I received this e-book for free from the Library Thing Member giveaway. I am not going to go over event by event what happens in the book. I will say that this book presents an interesting take on one soldier’s experiences in the civil war. The beginning of the book limps a long until you are 20 to 30 percent into it and then it gets more interesting. I was glad to find that this was not another sappy civil war romance. The main character Peter manages to get himself into many unlikely predicaments. The things that happen to him could have happened, but seem unlikely, but this is a work of fiction. The author does present the events in a believable manner. The characters are likable and the story line is intriguing. It flows okay until the end. The end was abrupt and without a conclusion. The story does not tie together at the end. It would have had better resolution if Laura re-entered at the end. I would give the book a 3 out of 5. Definitely not the best I have ever read, but not the worst either. This was a easy, quick read and I think it would be great for young adults. The writing lacks polish, but the historical facts of the story appear to be accurate.I could see book as part of a series about civil war soldiers or civil war persona. This would make a good companion book for an American history course. Haley I will look for your books in the future. Thank you and keep writing. You will nail it. I urge everyone to keep reading. Give this book a try and see what you think about it.